


Silly Wrong, But Vivid Right

by NahaFlowers



Category: Black Sails
Genre: (all third person though), @ James I don't think you even tried at all, Denial of Feelings, Internalized Homophobia, James is a blushing and loving fool, M/M, POV Alternating, actually they're like eighteen/nineteen but ya get me, only seventeeeeeeen, they're so young and sweet, very ineffectual denial of feelings, young!flinthamilton
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahaFlowers/pseuds/NahaFlowers
Summary: Thomas meets James when they are about eighteen years old, Thomas wondering onto the docks in a quest to clear his head and forget about his father. James is a midshipman with a talent for giving a silly young Lord cheek. Thomas may already be in love.Title fromOne Day Like Thisby Elbow





	1. First Meeting (Thomas)

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought to myself 'How could I make Thomas and James's first meeting even better than in canon?' And then I thought 'What if they were young and baby-faced and came upon each other by chance?' and here we have it.

When Thomas was frustrated, or angry, or upset, he went for a walk along the river. The air cleared his head, the rhythmic beating of his footsteps helped settle him down, and usually by the time he got back, he was feeling a lot better.

Well, it was not working today. His fucking father, Thomas thought furiously. He was not given to swearing out loud, but curses passed through his thoughts far often than was probably proper for a young nobleman. This, though, warranted such vulgar language.

Harry had just ended things with him, after they had been seeing each other since their Eton days. Now that they had left school, he had said, their couplings could hardly be put down to boyish mischief or youthful exuberance for much longer, and he could not risk his reputation by being outed as a sodomite.

Thomas had protested hotly at that, saying that he would never compromise the safety of his lover or risk him being outed.

Harry had responded by pointing out that while he might not, Thomas’s father absolutely had the power to use it against him if he deemed it in his interests.

Thomas had had nothing to say to that. Harry had left without another word.

_God_ , Thomas _hated_ his father.

It was certainly a sin to think that way about his only living parent, but it was not as if his father had ever _really_ cared much about sin anyway. More to the point, to listen to his father, everything Thomas did was immoral, according to the Bible as written by Lord Alfred Hamilton, every action judged a blemish against his family name. It wasn’t even just his preference for men; as far as his father was concerned, Thomas knew he preferred simply to ignore that particular _failing_ on Thomas’s part, as long as it didn’t become public knowledge and bring disgrace to that blessed family name. No, it was as if anything Thomas ever did, everything that he believed, everything that he _was_ , was a disappointment to his father.

Wiping angry tears from his eyes (he had given up on his father years ago – why did he still shed tears over him?), Thomas broke from his reverie and looked around. He realised his mindless marching had brought him to the docks.

Fuck. He hadn’t meant to come this far. It wasn’t a good place for a young Lord to be, down by the docks, and the sky was darkening into night before his eyes. He kicked a nearby barrel in frustration.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said a voice from behind him. Thomas turned to see the most beautiful man in the world standing at his shoulder. The man smiled and Thomas’s heart seemed to leave his chest.

“There’s gunpowder in it,” the man explained, a delightfully bemused expression playing on his features. “Don’t want anything to explode.”

Thomas huffed out a surprised laugh. “Well, that would really be the _perfect_ end to the _most fantastic_ day,” he said sarcastically.

The man grimaced at him sympathetically. He was around the same age as him, Thomas thought, eighteen or nineteen, early twenties at most, and was dressed in the uniform of a low-ranking naval officer. Low-ranking, but proud, Thomas thought, noticing his straight back and impeccable uniform.

“Bad day?” he asked.

Thomas grimaced in return. “Just a bit,” he admitted. “Thomas Hamilton,” he introduced himself. He was sure this man didn’t want to be detained by a foolish lord who had lost his way, but he had to at least know his name. “And you?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “ _Lord_ Thomas Hamilton?” he asked.

Thomas smiled embarrassedly, feeling caught out. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

James smiled fully this time. “Midshipman McGraw,” he said.

Thomas stood smiling, merely taking in the midshipman for a measure of time. Then he remembered himself. He fumbled with his sleeves for a moment, a nervous habit that his father was constantly reprimanding him for, then looked back up at McGraw.

“Well,” he said, awkwardly. “I suppose I should let you get on.” He made as if to walk away, back the way he came, but McGraw’s voice stopped him.

“Sir,” he said, and Thomas was unable to prevent the shiver of desire that ran through him hearing the deep voice of the midshipman call him that. He turned around. “Let me walk you home.”

“That’s a rather long way,” said Thomas, doubtfully, although a thrill went through him at the prospect. “Aren’t you busy?”

McGraw twisted his lips ruefully, but was not to be put off. “I’m off duty,” he said. “At least let me walk you to a carriage. Somebody like you shouldn’t be walking around here alone at night.”

That should not sound as flirtatious as it did, thought Thomas, as he nodded and fell into step with the other man. “So, since you’re off duty, midshipman,” said Thomas, licking his lips in anticipation, “May I ask your Christian name?”

Thomas saw McGraw’s eyebrows shoot up, still looking straight ahead. But he answered without inflection. “James, my Lord.”

“Thomas, please,” he said with a small smile. James’s gaze flickered up to him and he caught ut, and turned to face from with a matching small smile gracing his features.

They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Thomas felt as if they had known each other for years, rather than just ten minutes.

When they had exited the docks and were back onto the paved streets of so-called civilised London, James chanced another glance up at him. He opened his mouth and started to say something, but then closed it again, abruptly.

“What is it?” asked Thomas, warmly.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” said James after a long pause, “but what happened to make you so-?” he stopped, clearly not finding a way to put it diplomatically.

“Pissed off?” Thomas suggested, with a smile.

James tried to hide a grin. “Yes, my Lord. Thomas,” he corrected himself. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

You could ask me anything, and I wouldn’t mind, thought Thomas. But he had to be careful. He found himself wanting to pour his heart out to this man he had known for less than half an hour.

James was looking up at him worriedly, and Thomas realised he’d been silent for a while. “You don’t have answer,” James said hastily. He shook his head angrily at himself. “I shouldn’t even have asked.”

“No,” said Thomas suddenly, cutting James off. “I don’t mind. I- I want to tell you.” It was true. He wanted to tell James McGraw everything. He couldn’t think of a single thing, right now, that he didn’t want to spill his guts about to Midshipman McGraw. He beamed down at James, who averted his gaze, smiling at the ground, blinking rapidly.

“I was angry,” started Thomas, “And upset.”

“I could see that,” said James. “Why?” he asked urgently, as if it were the most important thing in the world.

“My father, mostly,” said Thomas, with a grim smile. “He doesn’t approve of most of my choices. He seems to have an ability to meddle in my affairs even when he himself is not present at all.”

“Ah,” said James, and Thomas wondered, since he had been familiar with his family name, how much James had heard about his father. Then, “I’m sorry.”

Thomas shrugged. “I feel better now,” he said, and it was the truth. James pressed his lips together in an indulgent smile.

“Well, I’m glad,” he said. “Here’s a carriage now,” he added, sticking his hand out to stop the driver.

Thomas looked at James again, suddenly feeling prematurely bereft. He couldn’t leave this man, who had just made him feel so much better simply by keeping him company, not knowing if he would ever see him again.

“Come and visit me,” he blurted out.

“What?” said James, looking up at him with faint shock.

Thomas felt himself blushing. “You went out of your way for me,” he said. “You helped a bumbling idiot noble find his way back to civilization. Surely that deserves a thank you.”

James bowed his head, hiding a smile. “As you say, my Lord. When should I come?”

Thomas found himself thanking God that he had said yes. “When would be best for you?” he asked, smiling a brilliant smile.

“Next week?” said James, harried – the carriage driver looked to be getting impatient. “I have leave on Wednesday and Thursday so – Wednesday evening?”

“Sounds perfect, Midshipman McGraw,” said Thomas, climbing into the carriage. He gave James his address. “Until then!” he said, and then James closed the door and the cab pulled off into the middle of the road. Thomas watched James until he was out of sight, looking steadily and stoically after his carriage. Then he turned around and settled into his seat. He was very much looking forward to next Wednesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: James goes to Thomas's for dinner - they both pretend it isn't a date - it's totally a date - James buys Thomas flowers
> 
> Comments are love!


	2. Dinner (James)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Thomas go on First Dates 
> 
> (not really, but I would absolutely read that fic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter moves swiftly into full-on period drama territory and I have no regrets.

James spent the week leading up to the day on which he would be seeing Thomas again in eager anticipation, unable to spare room in his mind for much else, which led to a disciplinary meeting from his captain and a stern warning to make sure he used his leave wisely, the implication being, of course, that if he did not return on top form, he may be denied leave in future. James was just thankful that the captain hadn’t taken away his leave as punishment.

He spent the day on which he was going to see Thomas twitching in nervous anticipation and pacing around his very small room in agitation.

At 4 o’clock he couldn’t bear it anymore. It was far too early to go to Thomas’s yet, but he thought a walk in the city air might do him good. It wasn’t exactly clean, but that was besides the point; it was better than staying cooped up inside. And he ought to get something for his host, he thought, to thank him for allowing him into his home.

But what? James thought as he wandered out along the streets. What did people bring their hosts when visiting them for the first time, especially when the host in question was a lord and he a mere midshipman.

An hour later, and he was still none the wiser. He had thought perhaps a bottle of wine, or maybe whiskey, as a nod to his heritage, but one look at the prices and he had dismissed that idea entirely. He had precious little to his name, and could barely afford the cheapest liquors. Thomas would surely have something far more expensive that that being served with the entrée.

Sighing, James thought he may as well start making his way across the city to Thomas’s home. He could take a cab, he supposed, but it was cheaper to walk, and he hadn’t quite given up on finding something for Thomas along the way.

As James rounded a corner, he saw a florist selling her wares at the other end of the street. James felt a flash of inspiration and walked towards her.

“Sunflowers!” she was shouting. “Sunflowers, sixpence a bunch!”

James inspected the sunflowers in question and knew they would be perfect for Thomas. He remembered Thomas turning around to look at him, like a benevolent sun shining down on James, sharing his light with him.

“I’ll take a bunch,” said James to the flower seller. He left her, smiling to himself involuntarily as he drifted through the streets of London, lighter than a feather, with his purchase gripped tightly in his hand.

As he got nearer and nearer to Thomas’s address, however, he began to have second thoughts.

The houses he was passing were getting nicer and nicer, some even with fully-fledged gardens of their own, and James wondered if perhaps a bunch of sunflowers bought from a street vendor was not exactly a gift fit for a Lord.

And it was not as if he could tell Thomas _why_ he had bought him sunflowers, thought James, face burning in shame and embarrassment. _They reminded me of you because you’re like the sun?_ James shook his head fiercely. What had he been thinking? That sounded like he was some blushing virgin writing poetry for his first beau.

Not even good poetry, James thought wryly.

By the time he turned down the avenue Thomas had given him as an address, James had made up his mind to discard the flowers in a garden, or perhaps hand them off to a butler. But he could hardly just leave them in one of the beautifully tended gardens he was passing, and when James rang the bell to Thomas’s house (feeling a little like he ought to be using the servant’s entrance rather than the front door), it was opened by none other than Thomas himself. James stashed the flowers hastily behind his back.

“James!” Thomas exclaimed, opening his arms in welcome, looking for all the world as if there was nobody else in the world he would rather see. “Come in,” he said, stepping back to allow James into the grand entrance hall.

James could not help but look around, open-mouthed, at the opulence. This was wealth the likes of which he could never dream of, no matter how promising his navy career was deemed to be. He caught Thomas’s eye and closed his mouth, embarrassed and out of place.

Thomas mistook his embarrassment for distaste. “I know, I know,” he said, screwing his face up in disgust as he nodded around the entrance hall. “It’s all horribly decadent, but it’s father’s taste, unfortunately. Why don’t you come into the parlour, it’s far more comfortable.”

The parlour was indeed much homelier. It was smaller (although still nearly twice the size of James’s rooms), with a comfortable looking sofa and two squishy armchairs, in front of a fireplace, currently unlit in the summer heat.

“Now,” said Thomas, turning to James, who was stood ramrod straight, hands behind his back, still clutching the damn sunflowers. “What have you got hidden behind your back?” he asked, with a gently teasing smile.

James looked down at his feet, wondering how to answer. He couldn’t exactly lie and say he had nothing – quite apart from the fact that it would be so easily disproven, he couldn’t see himself ever being able to lie to Thomas, when Thomas himself seemed so open and without judgement. But he had no idea what he was going to tell him.

“It-it’s nothing, my Lord,” James stammered. “I just thought I should…get you a gift,” he muttered, feeling silly.

Thomas was speechless for a good few seconds, his face a picture, and James felt a leap of pride and satisfaction in spite of himself. “A gift?” he said then, eagerly. “Well, show me! Don’t leave me in suspense!”

Reluctantly, James produced the sunflowers from behind his back.

Thomas exclaimed in delight. “Oh! They’re wonderful, James!” He looked genuinely charmed and James relaxed a little, some of his embarrassment fading. It came back full force, however, when Thomas asked, quite innocently, it appeared, “Why sunflowers?”

He could have said it was all they had, or that they looked pretty, or literally anything less embarrassing than the truth. But it would have been a lie, and James knew it, and he had a funny feeling Thomas would know it too, and be disappointed in him, even if he would hide his disappointment and never pursue the subject.

So what James said was, “They reminded me if you,” and felt himself blushing bright red. Damn his pale complexion and red hair! At least he hadn’t said it was because Thomas seemed like the sun to him, he thought furiously. He chanced looking up at him, heart in his throat, and saw to his surprise that the taller man looked even more delighted than before, if a little bowled over.

“Oh,” he uttered softly. A slow pink blush was spreading over Thomas’s face, like the sunrise, and God why did this man provoke him to think of such ridiculous metaphors to describe him? “Thank you,” said Thomas gravely, catching his eye and looking at him seriously. James nodded, trying not to squirm under Thomas’s penetrating gaze.

Thomas rung for a servant and instructed them to put James’s flowers in a vase and place them in pride of place on the dinner table, where he could admire them when they went in for dinner.

“They’re just a cheap posy,” muttered James embarrassedly. He was sure the blush had not yet quite disappeared from his cheeks. “Surely they don’t deserve such special treatment.” Thomas simply beamed at him.

“Would you like a tot of whisky before we go into dinner?” asked Thomas, indicating the bottle and glasses on the table in front of the sofa.

“All right,” James agreed. He was going to need something to fortify him if he was to get through this evening without making a _complete_ fool of himself.

Thomas made himself comfortable on the two-seater and beckoned James to join him there when he saw he was still standing up, looking awkward. James had no choice but to sit beside his host, trying not to think about just how close he was to Thomas. He caught himself holding his breath at one point, and forced himself to release it, glancing up at Thomas to check he hadn’t noticed James’s strange behaviour. What was wrong with him?

Dinner was better. James sat on Thomas’s right – still close enough to talk, quite intimately, but not so close that James was constantly worrying about accidentally touching him. For the life of him, he still couldn’t work out why it felt like it would be both the start and end of the world if he did.

They discovered that they had very similar tastes in literature, although Thomas was a little idealistic for him, and James a little too pragmatic for Thomas. While Thomas was obviously better read than James, with his tutors and family library and Eton education, it was a close-run thing, and James was pleased that he was able to recommend some volumes that Thomas hadn’t read, in recompense for the recommendations that Thomas gave him.

All in all, James could not remember spending a more pleasant evening, nor one where he had laughed and talked so much. They didn’t just talk about literature, either – the conversation was about anything and everything, from their current occupations, to their vastly differing childhoods, to their political opinions. Thomas’s ideas were a lot more radical and idealistic than James had expected from someone of Thomas’s standing and especially of his family name – they had been the cause of more than a few shouting matches with his father over the dinner table, Thomas admitted sheepishly. He was determined to put them into practice, to use the power he was born with to make the world a fairer place for those less fortunate. James had no doubt that he would do it, either. He was by nature and experience a cynical person, but to hear Thomas speak, to watch his face light up and his jaw strengthen with resolve, it was impossible to believe that this man couldn’t achieve anything he put his mind to.

By the end of the evening, James felt like he knew Thomas better than almost anyone else in his life; Thomas certainly knew _him_ better than anyone else did, barring perhaps Commodore Hennessey. Of course, his crewmates would say that was because he kept to himself and didn’t get out enough, but even so.

James knew the evening had to end sometime, but the pleasant haze that had settled upon his mind and soul after the wine, rich food and stimulating conversation dissipated somewhat when he realised he didn’t know when (or even if) he would see Thomas again.

The sky was completely black outside the windows by now and it became obvious to James that both of them were dragging the evening out, not wanting it to end. It gratified James that Thomas seemed to be enjoying James’s company as much as he was enjoying Thomas’s. Their conversation was punctuated by long silences now, in which Thomas searched his face, as if he were sizing him up, trying to decide something. It unsettled James but also sent a frisson of energy through him, a frisson that made him want to lean forward and –

That was quite enough of that, thought James, stopping his train of thought dead in its tracks. To go down that road was dangerous. He cleared his throat and stood up.

Thomas looked at him questioningly.

“I must go,” said James, a lot more stiffly than he had been speaking mere minutes ago.

Thomas stood up quickly too. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry, I have kept you for far too long.” He looked down awkwardly.

“Nonsense,” said James, his voice going soft. “I fear it is I who have kept you.” Thomas looked up again at that. “I have had a…very enjoyable evening,” he said, feeling himself blush again. “But I really should be going.”

Thomas nodded. “You will take our carriage?”

James protested feebly. “No, sir, I- I really couldn’t.”

Thomas was apparently ready for that. “James,” he said firmly, “You will take the carriage.” It was a tone that brooked no argument, and James nodded, trying to ignore the strange but not altogether unpleasant sensation that ran through him at the strength and authority in Thomas’s voice. “And what have I told you? You must call me Thomas.”

James looked down, smiling at his persistence. “All right then,” he said, voice more gravelly than he had intended, “Thomas.”

Thomas nodded, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He led James back out into the entrance hall.

“Well,” said Thomas.

“Well,” said James gruffly, for want of anything better to say.

Thomas opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then shut it again, shaking his head. Then he held his bare hand out, palm down, knuckles facing upwards, showing the few rings Thomas wore.

James felt the oddest urge to kiss his ring, but he brought himself to his senses and simply took Thomas’s hand in his.

He may as well have kissed it for the blaze that seemed to sear through them both at the touch of skin to skin. They did not let go for what felt like a very long time, far longer than appropriate. James finally realised what his brain had been purposely ignoring all evening. He had felt as if he wanted to touch Thomas, kiss Thomas – because he _had_ wanted to kiss Thomas.

James dropped Thomas’s hand as if he really had been burned and cleared his throat, turning on his heel and striding out of Thomas’s house with nary even a goodbye.

James did not sleep a wink that night.

Neither, as a matter of fact, did Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME - Thomas comes out to James  
> I have the third chapter written already, I just need to type it up! Let me know what you think, and I'll get it up even sooner! Thanks for all the comments so far, this is my first proper multi-chapter fic in an AGE and I am determined to finish this one.


	3. Aftermath (Thomas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas visits James to find out why he left so quickly the previous evening, and realises James may be suffering from unwarranted shame. He tries to unburden him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has been so long coming! I've actually had it written since I posted chapter 2, but it wasn't published sooner for two reasons: 1. because I'm a lazy typist and it's taken me literally five days to actually sit down and type the whole thing up and 2. because I've been trying to have the next chapter written before I post a chapter. That didn't quite happen, but chapter 4 is well on its way, so I thought I'd better post this one before everyone forgets about it!
> 
> Enjoy!

Thomas Hamilton was in love.

It was a strange thing, now it had happened. He had known James for all of a week, talked to him for a mere twenty minutes on one day and spent a long, pleasant evening in his company the night before. Yet he could swear he had known it from the moment he had turned around to see James smirking at him. Love at first sight. Thomas huffed a laugh at his ridiculousness. But he had never felt this way about anyone before.

In some ways, James was everything Thomas was not – cynical, where Thomas was idealistic, practical when he was romantic, and, although he had desperately wanted James not to feel uncomfortable about it, poor where Thomas was wealthy.

Not that wealth or position or power had ever done much for his father’s virtues, he thought, nor those of any Lord in Whitehall, and sometimes he had half a mind to give it all away. Still, surely it was something that James felt keenly while in his presence, aware that James had known what a hard day’s work for his daily bread felt like since he was a boy, whereas Thomas had never had to work hard (or at all) for his basic needs to be covered.

But that was a mere grey shadow over the proceedings, and despite their differences (or perhaps, Thomas thought, because of them) they had got along better than he could remember ever doing so with anyone. And throughout the night, he had fallen more and more in love with James; his hair and his wit and his sarcasm and his _smile_ ; until there was no chance of denying it, until his heart was practically singing with it.

The only problem now was whether his advances would be welcome, and whether James would be in a position to accept them.

On one hand, thought Thomas, there had been the flowers. That, he was sure, had been a romantic gesture, however much James had muttered about wanting to bring a gift for his host. He had even said the sunflowers reminded him of Thomas, which was as much to say that Thomas reminded him of the sun. Thomas blushed to think of the memory, of James reluctantly giving up the flowers, of the blush that had suffused his features, making him look prettier than ever – had Thomas thought him not to be a romantic? Perhaps he was mistaken.

And James had responded to his playful flirting, thought Thomas laughing and flirting back, shy and coy and daring by turns. But perhaps he had not fully realised what was taking place. For now, Thomas’s mind jumped to their goodbye, to the lightning that had bolted through the both of them when James had taken his hand in farewell. James had looked horrified when he eventually dropped Thomas’s hand, and had left abruptly, even rudely, not really even saying goodbye.

Perhaps he had realised Thomas’s intentions in that moment, and not shared them, and been disgusted by them, as so many people seemed to be when confronted with even the idea of a man loving another man. But perhaps, another voice whispered in Thomas’s ear, and he could not tell if it was logic or mere, treacherous hope, the reason James had turned away so suddenly was shame, in feeling the same things for Thomas as Thomas felt for him. If so, Thomas thought, then he ought to help James unburden himself as soon as he possible could of such fruitless shame over such a wanted and reciprocated thing. To think of James sitting and berating himself over his feelings and Thomas not immediately doing something about it was abhorrent to him. And if it were the former, well…Thomas would rather know. Either way, he thought, James deserved to know the truth.

So he had arranged for the carriage to take him to the same address that it had delivered James to last night, knowing that James still had another day of leave and was as likely to be there as anywhere else.

When James opened the door to him, it looked as though he hadn’t slept a wink. Neither had Thomas, but for different reasons, if the dark rings under James’s eyes were anything to go by. Thomas longed to remove them, to kiss them away, along with the stress and the fear and confusion that he saw flash through James’s eyes before he mastered his expression.

The second thing he noticed was that James was bare-chested, and Thomas’s eyes roamed his torso quite impolitely for a few long moments, just drinking in his well toned chest and arms and the hundreds of freckles that smattered them, before forcing his gaze up to meet James’s eyes.

James’s face was schooled into a mostly neutral expression, to his credit, thought Thomas. He was clearly waiting for him to speak, but Thomas realised he had thought of no pretext with which to visit. He decided to improvise.

“You left rather quickly last night,” Thomas stated, a mere fact, but James’s eyes flicked away from him, ashamed. “I just – I found myself wondering when I would see you again,” Thomas admitted, fiddling with his sleeves.

“Well, you’re seeing me now,” James pointed out, and then looked down on his bare chest and blushed. “Excuse me,” he said, and turned to rummage in a drawer for a shirt, which he pulled over his head. James’s hair, which had not been particularly well-groomed to begin with, as he had clearly just woken up, was now looking adorably dishevelled.

“That is,” Thomas said, continuing where he had left off after it became clear that James was not going to break the silence, “if you even want to see me again.”

James barked out a harsh laugh. “I would have thought,” he said, tightly, “that it would be you who never wanted to see _me_ again.”

“What?” said Thomas sharply, alarmed. “Why?”

James shook his head angrily at himself, as if he had said too much. “No matter.” He turned away to fiddle with the uniform laid on his bed, clearly expecting Thomas to use his distraction to make a hasty exit, and escape this awkward situation. Thomas was not to be so easily deterred, however. When James looked up again, he was still standing there, looking at him shrewdly.

“What?” James all but snarled, and then winced at his tone.

Thomas was almost certain now that his earlier suspicions about James’s shame had been correct, but he was not sure James would ever admit it unless he took the first leap.

“James,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. James flinched involuntarily and Thomas quickly removed it. “Do you want me to leave?”

James’s expression looked as though it was at war with itself – fury and shame and longing twisted in it as if they were battling for space in James’s cheekbones. Finally, a look of desolate despair set over James’s face and he remained silent. Thomas wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss that awful expression from his face, but he knew if he did so, James would probably flinch away again and he would risk losing him forever. No, Thomas had to play this carefully, find a different way to remove the awful expression of shame and despair, for James’s sake as much as his own.

“When we first met,” Thomas started, coming into the room good and proper and shutting the door behind him. James cast a panicked glance around his room, as though it were not fit for a Lord, but Thomas couldn’t care less. “When we first met,” he repeated, “I told you I was upset because of my father, because he always found a way to meddle in my affairs, even without actually doing anything.” He took a deep breath. “What I didn’t tell you, however, was which particular _affair_ ,” he weighed the word on his tongue, both amused and irritated by it, by how much and how little it captured, “he had meddled in, to make me so upset.”

James seemed to be holding his breath. “What was it?” he asked, hoarsely.

“A boy – well, man, I suppose, named Harry.” Thomas bit his lip, then said what needed to be said, so there could be no mistake. “We had been together since Eton, but that day he had come to me and told me it had to end, for he feared for his reputation if my father were to find out about our…affair.” He licked his lips nervously, watching James’s face. A series of expressions had flickered over it as he had spoken – first disbelief, then shock, and then anger when he spoke about Harry finishing with him – but now he could not read James’s expression at all.

“Well,” said James, finally, sounding as if he hadn’t used his voice in years. “Um,” he said awkwardly, eyes darting to Thomas’s and away again. He looked like he wanted to speak, but he said nothing more.

“Shall I go?” said Thomas, hopelessness setting in. Had this all been for nothing?

“Yes,” said James, sounding relieved. “You should go.” Thomas was unable to help the small gasp his mouth made at the obvious rejection. He turned to go, averting his eyes from James. “Thomas,” he said to his back as Thomas started to open the door. “Thank you for telling me.” Thomas let the door fall closed again. “I just,” Thomas looked back at James and saw him close his eyes, struggling to find the words. “I just need time to think,” he finished, but his tone was calmer than it had been all morning, and his eyes had cleared, as if a fog had lifted. Thomas breathed a sigh of thankfulness, and smiled.

“Of course,” he nodded, pulling the door open again and stepping out into the corridor. “Well, you know where to find me.”

James nodded at him before he walked out of the building, hearing James’s door click closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: James gets into several fights (both physical and verbal) over Thomas and makes his feelings pretty clear.


End file.
